


Antivan Red

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows the steps to this dance. The back-and-forth, the sway. The proper movements and the right words. Josephine does as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antivan Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunspeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/gifts).



> For the lovely sunspeared who prompted me to write something about "anticipation" and "royalty, strength, age" for Josephine/anyone. I picked Leliana because it has been a Leliana kind of week. ;)

Even in the low light of the candles, the scar looks bad. It’s an ugly twisted thing just below her ribs, almost as wide as her palm. Leliana runs her fingers over it before she covers it with the soft fabric of her tunic. A ritual of sorts, she supposes. A reassurance. A reminder. Even after all this time, she still needs. Now more than ever perhaps. 

She used to hate how prominent it was, not healed by magic like most of her other wounds. It was evidence of things she thought she wanted to forget. A cold stone floor. The smell of piss and blood and vomit. Armored boots and rusty blades. And most of all, that familiar smile. Warm breath brushing against her neck and then, a knife buried deep. 

Leliana takes a deep breath and focuses on her face in the mirror. She carries the memories like she carries everything else now. Weapons, if need be. Armor, just in case. 

She brushes an errant lock of hair behind her ear and tries on a little smile. Not as bright as it used to be but more honest by miles. 

There is no point in speculating what brings back the memories. What makes her hands shake and her chest tighten. She knows. 

It’s ridiculous, she tells herself as she pulls two brass goblets from the cupboard and places them on the small table by the firesite. It’s not the first time. Not even the first time since Marjolaine. She is too old for this. Has seen too much. The thought twists her smile into something bitter.

It’s different, a small voice whispers back. You know it is. 

The knock on the door is not as hesitant as she she expected it to be. Josephine, however, looks exactly like she thought she would. Her face is flushed, even just from the short walk from her own room. Excitement bright in her eyes. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders and that sight is new and rare enough to give pause. In one hand she carries a bottle of Antivan red, with the other she grabs Leliana’s arm tightly. 

“I don’t think anyone saw me,” she whispers. 

“I’m not sure you would have noticed if someone did.” But Leliana smiles and pulls her inside, closing the door behind her. “I suppose we'll know by the looks on their faces in the morning.” 

“You think so?” It’s just the shortest flash of worry on Josephine’s face but enough for Leliana to regret her words. She wants to reach out to her but decides to take the bottle of wine out her hands instead. 

“Don’t worry. Gossip at court dies down as quickly as it’s born. You should know that by now.” She doesn’t mention that Josephine’s choice of dress certainly wouldn’t help to disperse any possible rumors. Her simple gown and robe are far too casual for a professional visit, especially at this hour. 

Josephine nods and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I do.” She obviously tries her best not to look around the room with too much curiosity and fails spectacularly. It’s charming in a way. She has this habit of wringing her hands and all it does is make Leliana want to take them in hers. 

She settles for pouring the wine. 

Josephine makes a noise of pure unadulterated pleasure when the wine hits her tongue and drops down into one of Leliana’s cushioned chairs with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, how I’ve missed this. One more glass of that sweet travesty the Orlesians call wine and I would have flung myself off the balcony.” 

Leliana sits down across from her and takes a sip of the wine herself. It’s strong and heady and warmths her cheeks immediately. There is nothing frivolous about it.The thought makes her smile. “A little dramatic, are we?”

Josephine brings her hand to her chest in mock-outrage. “Dramatic? You have no idea what I had to do just to get this bottle for us.” 

“I assume it involved a variety of well-placed compliments?”

“Certainly.” Josephine makes a face. “Also the promise to attend Lady Marchand’s dreadful Satinalia party next week.” 

Leliana laughs. “Oh, you poor thing. But I am not surprised. I hear she has another grandson to marry off.” 

Josephine’s lips curl into a smile. The one that makes her look a little dangerous and always shoots straight through Leliana like a well-shot arrow. “You’re laughing now. But you are coming with me. I have already put your name on the list.” 

“You did not!” 

“I certainly did. I procured this bottle for you, after all.” She smiles beatifically and the sight is more entrancing than it has any right to be. “And I’m sure Lady Marchand has a grandson picked out for you as well. Or a nephew. Or some other equally boring relative.”

Leliana scoffs. “She can keep them. I don’t want any of them.” 

Josephine watches her over the rim of her goblet, her eyes large and dark. “I know you don’t.” The silence that follows hangs between them like a lazy smile, laden with all the things neither of them ever speaks out loud. Leliana knows she allows it to stretch out for too long, every delicious second buzzing with possibility. 

She knows what she needs to do to bring this to its natural conclusion. (If she’s honest the path was laid out before her from the moment she laid eyes on Josephine.) She knows the steps to this dance. The back-and-forth, the sway. The proper movements and the right words. 

Josephine does as well, even if in a way that is so completely different from hers. That honest eagerness. That genuine interest. In just the short time she has been at court, Leliana has seen her talk circles around nobles, keeping her cards close to her chest and distracting them with a dazzling smile until just the right moment. But there is nothing coy and calculating about her affections. It’s no game when she comes to her at night, with her face flushed and a bottle of wine in her hands. (Nothing like Marjolaine. The thought comes creeping back like a weed whose roots have grown too thick and deep around her heart.) 

She knows how she would do it. Offer to refill her goblet and just as she pulls away, brush her fingertips against her wrist. Listen how her breath catches in her throat. Watch how her eyes go wide as her touch lingers. She would be bold then. Curl her hand around her wrist and tug. Take the goblet from her hand, put it aside and pull her close. 

Josephine would come to her, she thinks. Eager, her robe falling from her shoulders. Just her thin nightgown. Soft white silk against her dark skin. She’d like to brush her hair from her shoulder and see if her neck is just as sensitive to touch as she suspects it to be. Her fingers first. Her lips would follow. 

She lets the silence stretch for too long. 

“Would you like some more?” she asks and her voice doesn’t sound like her at all and she doesn’t move, her hand hovering just inches from the bottle on the table between them. 

There is nothing coy about the way Josephine rises from her seat. Nothing calculating in the way she comes to her. “No,” she says and then, painfully polite just as she laces her fingers through hers, “thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
